Ginny's White Christmas
by DomusChao
Summary: A multi-chapter prequel to Shell Cottage by RedVineXD.
1. Chapter 1

'Twas Christmas night in the Burrow. The Weasleys had finished their succulent dinner. Not all of them mind you. Arthur had been called into work, but in truth Molley knew that he was there to perk up Perkins. Charlie was still dealing with his bad dragons and Ron was spending the holiday on a getaway with his chocolate goddess. After the meal Harry and Ginny had stolen themselves a moment in her childhood bedroom, where a thin layer of dust had covered all her toys. She'd moved out to join Harry at his central London studio, closer to his job in an entry level position at Barclays, perfect for a man who speaks snake.

"It's smaller than I remember.", Harry said with his hand comfortingly resting on Ginny's waist.

She let out a small chuckle, her plain lips curling in the corners. "I suppose we're used to bigger things now, yeah."

They were just a few steps into the room, the door already closed behind them. It was plainly furnished; a large, robust bed claimed most of the space, with a small crotch-high desk and a chair seductively posed in the corner. A wardrobe was recessed into one of the walls, bursting with Ginny's skanky attire. On the opposite wall, shelves heaved so heavily with books they could burst, like a teased tallywacker ready to erupt its contents over unsuspecting denizens of the room.

Harry turned his gaze to her desk. Small piles of old notes were spread across it like a whore's patient legs. Between them, a ginger cunt - a single photo of Fred lay in a light pink frame. Harry reached for it, wrapping his slender pussy flickers around it.

"I miss him." Ginny said quietly, looking over his resilient shoulders.

Her mind wandered to the day she learned of her brother's death. The darkest day she'd known.

She remembered his body laying on the cold stone floor of the castle she'd once thought of as home, a place once as familiar and comfortable as a mother's meat pantry. Now here he was. Meat. It had only been moments ago that his body fell to the floor, flaccid after years of standing tall, erect, against those who tried to bring him down. Yet here he was. Downed.

She reached down and placed her hand on his chest. He was still warm. The realisation that she would never again feel the warmth of his body against hers suddenly washed over her, leaving her soul soaked with misery. A wetness that before long would spread. She could feel his soft chest hair under her hand, a delicate ginger welcome mat to his pale body, a body she yearned to feel encompassing hers now more than ever.

As her eyes continued to examine the body she had already been so familiar with, now irrevocably broken, her pussy began frothing as heavily as the crashing waves of pain, longing, and desperation. She couldn't help herself. Like a crackwhore sliding back to her cardboard box on the puddle of semen she'd conjured from men's wands, he had slid from this life to the next. Now he was unreachable. The ultimate tease. She still wanted him.

Harry snapped her back to reality.


	2. Chapter 2

" - the foot fetish thing was admittedly a bit unexpected though." Harry concluded. She had missed what he had been saying so she just made a small sound of agreement, with all the conviction of a stoned Hufflepuff. Her cheeks began to blush as she realised that her wetness was beginning to escape her, fishy runoffs that were beginning to moisten her third-hand thong. She turned away, her eyes wandered across the room until they eventually rested on the bed.

The four firm posts of the bed stood as tall as they ever had, though the knobs atop them had seemed so much larger the first time she had tried to mount one. She recalled fond memories of summer sleepovers she'd had with Hermione in that bed, her mahogany clunge just inches from her own redwood slot.

"Hey Harry, remember those summers we all spent here in the last few years?"

"Yeah, it was fun hanging out with you all. Ron was interesting to share a room with though. God, the smells."

"I was always disappointed that Mum didn't let you sleep in my room with me and Hermione."

"So was I, I always wondered what you two got up to during those hot nights."

Harry's mind returned to fantasies he'd had of the two of them. He'd often imagined all the things they could have been getting up to together. How Ginny's fiery bush would look with Hermine's dark, skinny fingers teasing into the tight hole below it, like the trunk of a tree with red leaves atop it. Of course, he'd whomped his willow with Ginny many times, it was Hermione he had yet to make his subservient little house elf. The thought of her body excited him, engorging his massive phallus like an elephant's trunk unfurling.

"Nothing too exciting, I promise." Ginny replied coyly.

She tried to suppress the smile forcing its way across her face like a lecturous old man attempting to force bills into a stripper's sweaty thong as she tries to make her abused body appeal to the sad men who watch, their whiskey stained breath filling the room with an air of regret and an unavoidable knowledge that at least one of them will be dead within a year, their alcohol riddled liver broken after decades of trying to drink away their problems.

She knew Harry was turned on by the thought of Hermione, it was obvious from how much his bulge grew whenever she came up in conversation, but she'd never told him how much of that black pudding she had enjoyed, it would have made him far too jealous.

Harry turned to Ginny, a sly smile on his face, and lust in his eyes. He pulled out his wand - and penis - in one smooth, practiced motion.

"Levicorpus".

With a swift upward flick and a green flash, Ginny was helplessly floating in front of him. This wasn't the first time he had done this. She knew what was coming, and she wanted it. Harry pushed her towards the bed, positioning her above one of the bedposts. He pulled up her dress, revealing her taut, round buttocks. He slid her thong over them and down her legs, which were as hairless as a naked mole rat. Her drippings fell onto the knob directly beneath her. He slowly forced her down onto the bedpost, screwing her in like a sexy lightbulb, already turned on. Tonight, Harry wouldn't need Felix Felicis to get lucky.


	3. Chapter 3

As her butt hole whimpered in pain and pleasure and her nipples rose like mighty mountains Ginny screamed:

"Put it in me you fuck!"

Harry obliged. He slid his patented potter plotter, turning the continuous leak into an active spray that managed to knock his glasses clean off.

"Damn, I can't see without my glasses."

He continued anyway, it was easier to imagine someone else now that the image was blurrier; someone smoother, darker, more exquisite.

She knew, she could feel it deep down inside, she thought the overwhelming ecstasy would numb her to it, but it could not. No matter how fast he thrusted or how big the bedpost was the emptiness was always present. He did not love her, he did not want her and only her and no amount of ejaculate could cover that truth.

As the thrusting continued her mind went numb to the pleasure. She became caught in those thoughts, though her body continued reacting to the violent sexing that was happening with it, squirming and shivering all the same.

She thought back to her dear brother and began questioning her own motives. Did she truly have passion for this man, who was currently paused inside her? Breathing heavily and sweating from the effort, it was clear the only exercise he'd done over the years had been planting a thick broom between his plump cheeks and jumping up and down with it. Was this who she was meant to be with, or was she trying to hide her true feelings? Was this incredibly intense banging just a cover up? Were the moans and wet slapping sounds just there to overwhelm the sound of her own thoughts and feelings?

Suddenly she came back to her senses. The thrusting had stopped and they had moved to the bed proper, her butt hole resembling a Christmas stocking as Harry pondered what to do with it. She knew what she wanted, why couldn't he? Yet another failure in their communication. A woman always has to take the lead she thought. She stood up, grabbed his hand, folded his knuckles into a fist and licked it, grotesquely, then turned around and raised herself.

She heard the sound of the air being forced out of her, she giggled. Fred would do it better she thought. His muscled arm would create a perfect vacuum seal. His hands were always working, crafting new prank machines, punching nerds and teachers in their dumb faces for talking too much, so masculine, so confident; she leaked again.

As Harry burrowed away, she began to accept their fate.  
"He's not satisfied, clearly lusting for that onyx harlot. Neither am I, he's not doing jack all with that flimsy arm, might as well still have no bones in it." She thought to herself.

"I need a real man, someone that can really wreck me, like good old Fred."

Harry kept doing his work, oblivious to her revelation, one hand in and the other just sitting there. He wasn't really into, as evident by his very flaccid penis. Even the lustful thoughts of Hermione didn't keep him going at this point. He was elbow deep into her like a muppet doll and all he could think about was how much he's going to have to wash that arm. Regardless he soldiered on, this was his life from now on, he had already accepted it. All he wanted was a family, a real one at last. To make one, one must make compromises he thought, even if that compromise is your fiance's self-destructive obsession with anal. He looked around at the assortment of colorful horse dong shapes around him and sighed.

"At least she's a great cook, and her dad did introduce me to the best role model in the world, a profound orphan, Batman. We should totally dress as Robin and Batgirl next Halloween"

A small fart interrupted his train of thought.

Enough was enough, he pulled his arm out, hoping nothing else comes out with it, then flipped her over and impaled her with his reborn hate boner.


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile, alone in the kitchen, Molly Weasley was also bent over like her daughter two floors above, but sadly without Harry's furry firebolt inside of her. She leaned down, and picked up one of her many dirty, moist rolling pins; the largest one she owned and her favourite one to... use. Dunking it under the milky water, she slowly caressed it, rubbing it up and down, slowly at first but as she pictured Arthur Weasley, with his rugged butch body and his pale throbbing Excalibur, her strokes increased.

'Oh Arthur, stick your slippery sword in me', Molly moaned to herself, slipping the rolling pin under her second-hand thong.

At that very moment, Molly felt a bulbous bellend rub up against her thotty ass, and a hand reach for her throat.

'Ooh Arty, you sexy squib lover, you got here just on time' she whispered, as her juices started to drip down her leg, 'did you bring another muggle for me to share your elder wand with you filthy thing?'.

At that moment, Molly was flinged over and smashed against the sink, which usually would make her squirt till sunrise, but it was not Arthur who held her down.

'I would never let you enjoy this fat fuckstick you stupid fucking carrot top'. It was them, the FIREMEN! Molly gasped, or at least tried to but she was still being choked by her masked captor.

'You and your family are the last of the gingers, and we will extinguish you and cleanse the wizard race.' Removing his mask, Neville revealed his angry revenging eyes, full of hatred.

'Why?' Molly Weasley gasped through shortened breaths, as her face turned as pale as her nipples.

'Why? WHY? How dare you even speak to me you filthy stale cheeto!' Neville spat in her face. 'I am Neville Longbottom, defeater of Voldemort, despite what that spazzy piece of shit Harry Potter says. Ever since I was the one to kill Nagini and end things, I've known that I am the rightful leader of the wizard race! And as the rightful leader, I know that there is no place for a Pippi Oldstocking's bitch like you - gingers are genetically inferior, and wizards are superior, and we WILL rule all, under my guidance and my Firemen brothers'.

Molly's eyes watered, she tried to plead with Neville, but his grip tightened. She gasped and gasped, unknowingly in synchronisation with her daughter upstairs, until finally everything went black for Molly, and Ginny finally allowed herself to succumb to Harry's bulky basilisk.


End file.
